Bermuda Triangle Blogging

There is one particular hallway closet in my house that represents a big, ridiculous mystery to me. It has a narrow door and I am almost afraid to open it everytime I do. What is inside there at any given time, I have no idea. Somehow things just seem to migrate there without my knowledge, approval, or even participation. It is always a bit of a surprise - not always pleasant, like the sippy cup my daughter "hid" there which once housed a beningn liquid (not so when I found it) that solved the latest game of "what's that smell?" - what lies behind that door. I try to clean it out several times a year and it won't cooperate. I am being undermined by an inanimate object. A HOLE in my wall where things accumulate. It's like the Bermuda triangle for CRAP but also for the most amazing items that I almost become convinced are lost forever and feel elated to find again. There are gems in there - even right now, I am sure - but the mining involved in seeking them out is daunting. By the time I find what I was looking for, I've usually upgraded the importance of the search entirely in my own mind because of the sheer effort involved. Never has a pair of woven mittens (in California, mind you - I was just REALLY cold that morning) been so incredibly vital to my survival as when I knew they were buried in the Bermuda Triangle closet and it was going to take a pith helmet and an ample supply of Dr. Pepper and Balance Bars (honey yogurt peanut, but I digress) to survive the expedition required to find them.

But I admit...

I have developed a fondness for this stupid closet, despite my protestations about the fact that is exists in my admittedly obsessive compusively CLEAN and sterile world (anyone else routinely "buff" their carpeting on a regular basis? Issues, issues...). It has become a souce of secret shame and delight that there is this area within my world that is so... untidy and deliberately standing against the tide. It is a closet of rebellion, this Bermuda Triangle sanctuary. But it is where you find everything that does not ever-so-neatly fit into an otherwise very ordered life. It is where a package of shotgun bullets lies alongside a broken Japanese toy I hid from my daughter there two years ago because it looks like one of those "Gremlin" monsters from the 80's and it freak me out to have it at all. And there is a strange harmony in such discord. Even when it annoys the devil out of me to have that closet, I find it more and more neccessary in my life to have that Bermuda Triangle hole in the wall closet. I still enjoy trying to clean it out, but the effort is increasibly halfhearted.

A blog is a bit like my closet of mystery for me. I have heard about them for awhile and resisted. It's a journal, right? A diary? This is NOT new, y'all. Maybe the online presentation is catchy and seems unique, but this has nothing on Anne Frank. Seriouly.

But I kept getting drawn to the doorway of the closet and I have finally opened it - hoping not to find the UFO ("unidentified foul odor") in the sippy cup. So far, I can only see darkness and realize suddenly that this is part of the point. I am creating my own path and can put whatever I want into this place. I can create my own HOLE IN CYBERSPACE where things accumulate. I can be deliberate or whisical here. But I can be honest and drop off whatever I have in my mind or heart at the moment and then SHUT THE DOOR by leaving the words here to etch on pages and thus release from myself a bit. I guess I get to take my own expedition here into the layers of blogging and eventually find my voice in the reverberating chambers of cyberspace. Maybe my voice will end up acting as a boomerang and will find it's way back to me eventually somehow. I do hope it doesn't smack me in the head when it does. Where was that pith helment again?

In any case, I have my Balance Bars and my endless supply of Dr. Pepper. Bring it on.